Margery bent and kissed the lips that spoke the grateful words. “You always comforted me, dearest, truest friend! Ah, why will you not stay with me always, to be my counselor and guide in the years to come? You have worked so hard; now is your time for rest. Promise me that when you are tired you will make your home with me.” “I will come to you whenever I can, but I will not live with you. It would not be wise. Now tell me of all the strange things that have happened since we parted. Thank Heaven, my child, your lot has fallen upon the golden side of life! Your troubles are over, now begins your happiness.” Margery’s hand had wandered to her heart-shaped locket, which day and night she always wore. She raised it, and gazed at the image of her mother’s face. “It seems like a fairy story,” she said, slowly and dreamily. “I wonder does the knowledge that I have so much, that the babe she left alone in the wide, wide world has great riches and lives in luxury make her happy?” “It would make her happier, dear child,” Miss Lawson added, quietly, “to see that your companion and friend for life, your husband, is so good and true a man. He is well known to me, Margery. You see, my sister has told me all about his nobleness and worth, and from my heart I congratulate you--more, I rejoice with you.” Margery did not answer; her hand was still closed round her locket, her eyes fixed on the fire. The light flickering and dancing on her pale, lovely face found no smile there, only a depth of pain in the wondrous starlike eyes. CHAPTER XXII. The fortnight’s stay of the Crosbie Castle party in town was extended to nearly six weeks; then Stuart escorted his mother home, and Vane Charteris remained in London. She was now thoroughly vexed and wearied. In spite of all her scheming, she was no nearer the goal. Indeed, she began almost to fear that Stuart would slip through her fingers altogether. She grew cross and worried, driving her mother almost frantic by her return to what she called ill-health. The suspense was really telling upon her, and with the birth of fear came strong determination. For her own pride’s sake, she must win now; the bitter mortification, the humiliation of failure would be too terrible to bear. Had she not tacitly encouraged the idea that her marriage with the heir of Crosbie Castle and Beecham Park was a foregone conclusion? Already she had experienced the pleasure of seeing envy and disappointment gather on several of her rivals’ faces. What barrier now remained? Stuart had, to all outward appearances, blotted the foolish episode of Margery Daw from his memory--there was no other influence to combat hers. Why, then, did he not wake to the reality and complete her satisfaction? The delay was annoying, the suspense killing.